Don't Forget
by keeptheotherone
Summary: Harry returns to the Burrow determined to avoid all contact with Ginny, but Ginny is determined not to be ignored. "Don't forget that you have something—someone—to come back to." A companion piece to "Girls Like You." Full summary inside.
1. Fate Is an Evil Witch

Summary: Harry returns to the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding determined to avoid all contact with Ginny. But Ginny is determined not to be ignored, and the more Harry withdraws, the bolder Ginny becomes. Can Harry navigate the Weasley brothers' interference and Hermione's advice to remember what he's fighting for?

"_. . . what I was trying to tell you last night was, don't forget. Don't forget that you have something—someone—to come back to." _

A/N: This is a companion piece to my Ron/Hermione fic "Girls Like You" but does stand on its own (at least I hope so; reviewers, correct me if I'm wrong!). It is canon-compliant through the early part of DH, except I've taken liberties with the timeline to prolong Harry's visit at the Burrow and have certain characters present when I wanted them. Special thanks to my beta vancabreuniter for her bottomless patience and enthusiasm, and to Betsy for making me defend Harry's characterization and motivation. This is a better story because of them.

Oh, yeah, if you recognize it, it's not mine.

* * *

Chapter 1: Fate Is an Evil Witch

Fate is an evil witch, Harry Potter reflected from the floor just outside the bathroom. She wasn't content with orphaning him, or feeding him to giant spiders and snakes and lizards, or prophesying murder, or poisoning his best mate. No, Fate wasn't satisfied even with all those things, so She forced him to give up the one person who made him happier than he could remember, who was his best source of comfort, and then—because obviously She had a sadistic streak—Fate dangled her just out of reach. Which made him neither happy nor comfortable.

Determined to evade his beautiful, tempting, very forbidden ex-girlfriend, Harry spent the days after his arrival at the Burrow avoiding any room that had her in it, or exiting immediately upon glimpsing a flash of red in the doorway. After multiple false alarms, he remembered Ginny was the shortest Weasley and ignored all hair at taller heights. Although awkward and conspicuous to execute, this strategy had been working reasonably well.

Until now.

Harry knew the bathroom was the most vulnerable spot in the Burrow, but it was also unavoidable. Ginny must have been waiting in the hall, for now he found himself sprawled on top of her in a way he hadn't been for several weeks, and then all too infrequently. They were nose-to-nose, his right hand was gripping something much too soft to be the floor, and there was freckled skin everywhere.

Harry closed his eyes and rolled away from her.

"Watch where you're going!"

He looked up without thinking. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you—"

But he could see her now.

Ginny was standing in a flowered nightdress she looked to have outgrown several summers ago. While nothing in Mrs. Weasley's laundry would have dared to appear dingy, it was threadbare, with fraying lace skimming the tops of her thighs and a missing ribbon in the scooped neckline. The gown itself had a sweet, girlish look, but there was nothing innocent about the way her breasts strained the tight bodice.

"Harry? I need to—"

He turned away from her again, but it was too late; her image was burned into his memory.

"Use the kitchen sink." Harry jumped up and slammed the door. He couldn't return to Ron's room like this.

* * *

Harry finished breakfast and headed outside without waiting for Ron or Hermione. He dreamt more than he slept last night and hoped a few laps around the paddock would clear his head.

There she was: flying Chaser drills with a charmed Quaffle.

Annoyed by her defiance of the restriction on underage magic, he crossed his arms, the broomstick in his hand sticking out at an odd angle.

But he couldn't help watching her. She was so graceful in the air, fearless and powerful. He was going to miss flying with her. A lot.

* * *

Harry was pouring pumpkin juice when he first felt something against his foot, a not-uncommon occurrence at the crowded Weasley table. He shifted. It happened again, against his ankle this time. He looked up sharply but Ginny was chatting with Madame Delacour, so he returned his attention to his lunch. He and Ron were debating crisps versus chips when it happened a third time, sliding across his ankle, under his trouser leg, and sensuously up his calf. Harry nearly choked. They had played this game while revising for Ginny's O.W.L.s, and what she lacked in reach Ginny made up in boldness. With any luck she would be restrained by the presence of half her family.

Damn. Luck is an evil witch, too.

* * *

Harry was peeling potatoes, Ron and Hermione were setting the table, and Ginny was washing vegetables. He could smell that soft floral scent he'd first associated with the Burrow and then, more pleasantly, with her skin. He remembered how dark his hands looked in comparison when—

He gouged out a bad spot. He was not supposed to be thinking about touching her. But she was right there, her elbow bumping his, her ponytail brushing his arm, and maybe he could've kept his eyes on the potatoes if she didn't keep thrusting her chest into his line of sight. There she went _again_, standing on tiptoe for the tenth time, reaching up for a bowl with her breasts practically under his nose. Harry snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye and the knife slipped, clattering into the sink. Ginny looked round, and he focused his gaze back on the job at hand. Ron and Hermione were arguing about the correct distance between plates and cutlery, and Harry felt a new appreciation for his best mate. This business of fancying a girl and not letting on was not for pansies.

* * *

Ron had clicked the Deluminator after Hermione left an hour ago but Harry's mind wouldn't stop. He was trying to focus on the Horcruxes, or Dumbledore's bequests, or really anything except The Best of Ginny Weasley, but his rebellious brain insisted on playing new memories of her. Like when she came downstairs in a towel to ask Hermione if she could use her shampoo (funny, she didn't smell like Hermione afterwards), or their run-in outside the bathroom last night. Harry sighed. That nightdress was thin enough he could nearly see through it. If only she'd had her hair up . . . .

She'd still had her hair pulled back for the match that first afternoon, in a braid that started on top of her head. He'd dug his fingers into it as they kissed by the lake, until they were both flushed and breathless, until he forgot everything but her. The sense memory was so strong, he could still taste her, still feel the silky strands unraveling between his fingers, as if she were right here in bed—

Ron sighed and flipped his pillow. Harry started guiltily and rolled towards the wall. Images flashed like a combination Pensive/Time-Turner: happy hours by the lake, under the Quidditch stands, on broomsticks; teasing touches in the Common Room, the library, the kitchens; hair draped over a chair playing with Arnold, twisted around her finger while revising, behind her ears as she smiled across his birthday cake . . . .

Harry fisted the sheet in his hands and wished for the privacy of his curtained four-poster.

* * *

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, shining his wand around the room. Nothing. No masked Death Eaters, no giant snake, no greasy-haired bat, just a snoring redhead. He'd nip downstairs for some tea, a change of scenery, and maybe then he could go back to sleep.

He pushed open the kitchen door and cursed that spiteful hag, Destiny, who put him in his ex-girlfriend's house. Ginny was at the table nursing a cup of tea in a sleeveless top and what looked like her brother's pajama bottoms rolled over at the waist. Thinking farther was better, Harry took the chair opposite her, but as soon as he sat down he knew he'd made a mistake.

This shirt was rather baggy, and that combined with its lavender color made him suspect it was a cast-off of Hermione's. One loose strap was slipping over the curve of her shoulder, but her breasts were hidden by her hair. Then she flipped it behind her back, and they were—was that her—

_Oh, Merlin_.

Fascinated, Harry felt the rush of heat to his groin and stared, unable to help himself until his view was blocked by her arm reaching across to straighten the drooping strap. He heard a floorboard creak in the hall and forced his gaze down to the table, but he knew. Ginny had let him see . . . had deliberately shown him . . . .

She was sunset-red but staring straight at him. Harry squirmed under her scrutiny but kept his eyes on her hands as she poured a second cup of tea and pushed it towards him, almost crawling across the table. That wonderful shirt was falling away from her body, and—

"Can't sleep?"

Did he mention Fate was an evil witch who gave his girlfriend _six_ older brothers?

* * *

Charlie Weasley surveyed the scene in front of him. Judging from the tea things, Ginny was making the most of a chance meeting. He had always found that cat-like stalking impossibly sexy, but watching his sister try it was just plain creepy. He shook off the image.

"Make me a cuppa, would you?"

Ginny stood to get a third cup and Charlie didn't miss the way Potter's eyes followed her every move.

_Brilliant, Weasley, you just gave the kid more of her to ogle. _He looked closer to evaluate the damage. That shirt wouldn't be too bad if she were wearing something under it (or better yet, over it), but the imp was wearing black knickers under pale blue and white—

"Wait a minute, are those my pajamas?"

"Not anymore." Ginny resumed her seat.

"Merlin, Ginny, I've barely been here long enough to shower!"

She shrugged, and one of those stupid straps fell off her shoulder. She didn't bother to replace it. "You should've locked your trunk."

"Obviously." He'd been spoiled, living with adults. Charlie turned from gathering sandwich makings, grabbed his jumper off the rack where he had hung it after Flooing home, and threw it at her. It landed on her head with a gratifying _plop. _"Since you're nicking stuff, take that. You look cold."

Ginny was blushing furiously when she reappeared through the neck of navy blue wool; even Potter was red-faced. Good, they hadn't missed his implication. He slapped a sandwich together, carried his plate to the table, and dropped beside Potter, who twitched nervously.

"How was your trip?" Ginny rolled up the sleeves to free her hands for pouring tea. She added milk but not sugar, and Charlie's irritation drained away. Mum had to ask how he took his tea, but Gin-Gin remembered.

"Nauseating."

"Well, you've certainly recovered," she said as he took another large bite. "Harry hates to Floo, too, don't you, Harry?"

Harry looked up at his name. Ginny casually adjusted the over-large jumper to drape off one shoulder, and Charlie had to admire her in-your-face audacity. No wonder Harry was fascinated with her; she was all fire and spunk, beautiful and bold as brass. But she was still his baby sister, and he was not leaving her alone with a wizard who was clearly interested in seeing her starkers.

Come to think of it, Charlie hadn't seen her drink even a sip. He shoved in the last bite and reached across the table. Yep, dregs.

"Bedtime." To his relief, Ginny didn't argue. She rounded the table, stepped between him and Harry, and bent to hug him.

"I'm glad you're home," she whispered in his ear.

"Get your arse out of Harry's face," he whispered back.

She grinned and straightened. "Here, this is too big for me." She crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of his jumper, and arched her back, pulling it off in one graceful motion.

"Goodnight, Harry. Sweet dreams." Ginny dropped the jumper between them and sashayed out of the room.

* * *

Silence. Heavy, awkward silence except for the _swish_ of the kitchen door swinging in shorter and shorter arcs. Harry wanted nothing more than to make a run for it, but he was quite reluctant to stand up, and he had a feeling Charlie knew why. He shifted uncomfortably, then froze at Charlie's knowing smirk.

"We're not together."

Charlie raised his brows.

"She's just angry about—well, with me."

"I've seen her angry, Harry, and that was not it."

He shrugged self-consciously. "I think she's trying to get me in trouble with you lot. Or drive me crazy. Or both."

"Yeah, witches have a knack for that. Ginny was always the most obnoxious when she thought we were ignoring her."

Harry felt a guilty heat spread up his face. Didn't Charlie understand he needed to avoid her, but couldn't? Not until— He swallowed. He didn't want to think of it like that, as a way to get away from her. He didn't want to be anxious to leave the Burrow.

"You can't be friends? Fred and George said you two got along splendidly last summer."

Harry waved his hand at Ginny's chair. "Did that look like friendship to you?"

"I see your point." Charlie began clearing the table. "But Harry? She's my baby sister. Don't screw up."

"What do you want me to say? All I wanted was a cup of tea. If I'd known Ginny was down here, I would've stayed upstairs. If I'd known she was going to show off, I'd have left when I saw her. But I don't have a magical eye, I'm not a Legilimens, and I'm not immune to her—and she knows it. If attraction is a crime, fine, I'm guilty. But don't pretend this is some silly teenage drama, like we're just any other kids with a crush. She wasn't flirting to wind you up, she's trying to change my mind about—well, about a lot of things, I reckon. You haven't been here, you don't know anything." Harry shoved back from the table. So much for going back to sleep.


	2. Mirrors, Sweets, and a Snog

Chapter 2: Mirrors, Sweets, and a Snog

"Coming to breakfast?"

"Nah, I'm going to do this first." Harry nodded at his trunk. "You go ahead."

"Hurry up if you want more than toast," Ron said.

Harry released the charms on his trunk, removed a small Scrivenshaft's bag, and stepped onto the landing, listening for running water. He'd decided now, with Ginny in the shower, was his best chance of returning her items undetected.

Dutifully averting his eyes from the bathroom door, Harry entered Ginny's room. It looked like her: bright, cheerful, and a little chaotic, except for a pristinely-made bed and squarely-aligned trunk that had to be Hermione's. Harry frowned. Miss Know-It-All didn't need more evidence of her suspicions; where could he leave them that Hermione wouldn't find, but Ginny wouldn't have to look? The two girls shared nearly everything, except . . . .

He was halfway to her bed before he saw that Ginny laid out her clothes. Faded jeans, a Gryffindor t-shirt, a wad of orange, and a lurid orange and green plaid bra. The bra looked funny (besides the colors), almost like it was—stuffed? Harry moved closer to poke it cautiously. It didn't collapse. Weird. He'd never pictured a bra that showed a girl's shape when it was just lying there. He tilted his head, studying it. It looked kind of small, actually—not the curve (Ginny was short and slim but she wasn't flat-chested), more like—Harry's neck heated—like if he cupped her in his hand, his thumb and forefinger would touch bare skin.

Shirt, trousers, bra . . . . He glanced over his shoulder but neither saw nor heard anyone, and the shower was still running. He dropped the Scrivenshaft bag and picked up her knickers. She'd been wearing plain yellow under her nightdress, and snug black bikinis under Charlie's pajamas, but these were tiny, just a string of elastic on each side. Her legs would look fantastic . . . .

Harry jumped at a noise across the hall. He'd be Bat-Bogey fodder if Ginny found him fingering her underwear. He hastily stuffed the Scrivenshaft bag under her pillow, only to have his hand catch on something lacy. Bloody hell. That damned nightdress.

* * *

Harry leaned against the back wall of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and wondered why he'd let Ron talk him into this. Well, not talk exactly; Ron had given him a series of pleading looks, sharp elbows, and insinuating head jerks towards Hermione until Harry offered to come along for the final fittings. Ginny had twirled once before Fleur declared her bridesmaid's robes _Parfait!, _Gabrielle had passed inspection immediately, and then Bill and Charlie twisted and turned until Fleur, Madame Malkin, Mrs. Weasley, and Madame Delacour were all satisfied. Bill and Mr. Delacour left to explore Diagon Alley, and now Fleur was holding court in front of a three-way mirror.

Charlie joined him, back in Muggle clothes. "How did you get stuck here, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It left Ron and Hermione home alone."

Charlie's face lit with an expression alarmingly similar to Fred and George. "The lucky bastard. Ronniekins finally made his move, eh?"

"He'd better be."

"I trust you're not returning a favor regarding my sister?"

"Of course not. Besides, I'm not sure it's a favor; Hermione's been pretty hacked off."

"Yeah, how did Ginny put it? 'The great git's in a load of—Brown.' "

Harry laughed.

"I haven't seen Fred and George's shop, I told Bill we'd meet there. Want to come?"

"About last night, I didn't mean to imply—"

"Forget it." Charlie sounded casual, but the tightness around his mouth made Harry think his comment had hit a nerve. "I'll see you later."

Harry nodded, looking round for something to distract him from the temptation of watching Ginny. He hadn't told Ron, but his reluctance to join this expedition was because Ginny was going, and how was he supposed to avoid thinking about her when she was changing clothes right next to him? He hadn't even been watching her, had deliberately turned the other way when she carried her robes into a cubicle, but the mirror across from her reflected a red t-shirt dropping onto the floor, followed by a pair of jeans kicked into a corner by bare feet, and then the stuffed bra. Harry had closed his eyes, but that hadn't stopped his imagination.

He sighed. The only thing in this room now other than Ginny was the crowd of witches at the opposite end. Fleur was certainly distracting enough, but he didn't think Bill would appreciate him eyeing his fiancée any more than his sister. What was he supposed to do, browse through the main shop like a girl? He supposed he could have gone with Charlie if he'd kept his mouth shut, but . . . .

This was an ideal room to watch someone unobtrusively. Dressing rooms lined both walls, each with a mirror hung outside the door, and three-way mirrors stood at each end. By moving a little to his left, Harry was rewarded with seven copies of Ginny as she posed in front of one of the stalls. She had several pairs of earrings and was holding them next to her face one at a time, turning her head this way and that, flipping her hair—

It was the same move from last night, but he couldn't see anything. Of course, she wasn't wearing a bra then, which was why he'd had such a great view. Not that he didn't now, he admitted as Ginny switched earrings. She was using one hand to hold up her hair, and with both arms raised her curves were clearly visible. Despite its close fit, the scarlet tee gave no hint of the bright bra beneath, although the lion's tail curled rather suggestively around the smooth tip of her left breast—or was that the right? Harry dismissed this pesky detail and frowned. Ordinary bras weren't that concealing. He remembered how this one held its shape and understood why Ginny chose it today.

Gabrielle was chatting merrily with her, giving her opinion on whether each pair looked better with Ginny's hair up or down. Ginny played along, striking one ridiculous pose after another, and Harry's mind wandered.

If he slid his hands under that shirt, up over her breasts, would his fingers brush bare skin? He'd seen freckles on her shoulders and chest last night, were there freckles _there?_ Now she was prancing in Fleur's discarded heels—Merlin, those were great jeans. He'd thought he was going to explode when she'd wiggled that delicious arse under his nose, brothers be damned, and he'd clenched his hands to keep them off her. Her reflection was strolling towards him; how could such a short girl have such long legs? She turned with a flourish, hip cocked, and a perfect image flooded his brain: long hair spilling down her back, long legs in strappy silver heels, and in between, nothing but a scrap of orange.

Harry blinked. Ginny was gone. Following the women into the main shop, he ignored the voice warning him if he kept picturing her in her underwear, he'd soon be snogging her, which he was not supposed to be doing, or thinking about doing, or even remembering doing.

Bill, Charlie, and Monsieur Delacour returned and joined the women at the counter. Ginny tossed a pack of hair bands and a pair of earrings on the counter. Bill pushed them towards the saleswitch. Harry smirked. He'd known she'd convince Bill or Charlie to buy her something, but to do it without speech or even eye contact was impressive.

Gods, she was brilliant. He missed her already, and he was still seeing her every day. He envied Ron. He really did.

* * *

Harry ignored his growling stomach and flipped another page in _Quidditch Illustrated_. He'd spent dinner trying not to picture Ginny's breasts or be squashed by Hermione's efforts to avoid Ron, followed by a long walk with Hermione and a conversation with Ron about both Hermione and Lavender. Overall, he thought he deserved a sweet. Or four, or five . . . .

But the last time he made an innocent, solitary trip to the kitchen, it ended neither solitary nor innocent. Away from her, the voice insisting Ginny Weasley wasn't safe with him was considerably louder. But he was hungry, and the Burrow was packed. How bad could it be?

Harry entered the sitting room, pleased to see people everywhere. Ginny was curled up with Crookshanks, _Teen Witch,_ and that damn lion_. _He caught Charlie's attention.

"Where—"

"Ron dragged Hermione outside—oh, going on forty-five minutes now."

Maybe they were taking his advice. Finally!

"Any sweets I can nick?"

"Look with the dish towels. Mum keeps some behind a Disillusionment Charm."

"Cheers."

Harry was sorting chocolates when he heard his name. Ginny was in the pantry.

"Harry, can you help me, please?"

* * *

Hermione and Ron walked hand-in-hand through the garden. Ron paused at the back door.

"Ready?"

Once inside, this delightful interlude was over. They would be back to best friends, back to Harry-Ron-Hermione. She squeezed his hand and nodded.

The kitchen was empty, but the cupboard was not. Hermione recognized those sounds from prefect rounds.

"Bloody hell." Ron strode towards the half-open door.

"Wait, what if it's—"

"OI! GET OFF MY SISTER!"

So, not Bill and Fleur then.

"Sod off, Ron!"

"Really, Ron, we can give them a few minutes—" Hermione couldn't see around him, but his fist was drawn back. "Ron, it's Harry. You can't hit your best friend!"

"Watch me!"

But his fist lowered, only to be replaced with scuffling. Hermione craned her neck but still couldn't see. What on earth—?

"_Accio_ shirt," Ginny whispered.

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. But they weren't together anymore—were they? Oh, Ron was going to kill Harry!

Before she could think what to do, the kitchen door opened.

"Harry, any luck—" Charlie's legs stopped with his voice. Fred and George stumbled into him.

Ron heaved a distinctly disheveled Harry into the room. "He was shagging our baby sister!"

"I was not!"

Hermione ducked into the cupboard. Ginny's back was to her.

"Shut it."

"I didn't say anything."

"Then don't."

Hermione heard the rustle of clothing and caught a glint of gold. "Backwards."

"Dammit!" Ginny sounded near tears.

Hermione bit her lip. Ginny was crying, the boys were yelling; this felt an awful lot like None Of Her Business.

But Ginny was dry-eyed when she pushed past her and gave a piercing whistle. Harry winced and wiggled his ear; she was standing right beside him.

"We were not shagging," Ginny said firmly into the silence. "Not that it's any of your business—"

Instantaneous uproar from every male in the room. Oh, gods. Even Harry was protesting.

The door opened again.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Bill demanded. "Fleur's parents just went to bed—" He looked from Ron's livid face, to Harry's guilty one, to Ginny's mutinous one, and turned back to the door. Hermione's hopes raised—one less brother!—but he was speaking.

"_Silencio. Colloportus." _There was the familiar squelching sound. "Now, what the hell is going on?"

"Harry's shagging our baby sister in our mother's cupboard," Ron accused.

Harry shot him the dirty look usually reserved for Malfoy. "Ron, I'm starting to wonder if you even know what that means."

Hermione cringed, but Ginny jumped between them. Tiny Ginny, who barely came to Harry's shoulder. Ron could knock Harry's face off without touching her. Harry was wrestling her behind him when seven wands sailed towards Bill, who caught them deftly. The tension thickened.

"We'd be a lot more likely to believe you, Harry, if your fly wasn't undone," George said.

Every eye dropped to Harry's crotch. He went bright red and turned his back. Hermione had never heard a louder zipper in her life.

"I think the girls should leave," Harry said.

That was rather brave. Then again, maybe that was his intention. Hermione edged towards the door.

"Go to bed, Ginny."

"We'd love to!"

Hermione hid her smile. Ron walked into that one.

"Get out, Ginevra."

Well, that was harsh; Ginny adored her oldest brother. Hermione frowned at him but he ignored her. Bill unsealed the door and gave Ginny an "or else" look. Hermione reached back for Ginny's hand, took their wands from Bill, and they left the kitchen.

* * *

"So you decided to take her up on it?" Charlie advanced on Harry.

Bill saw Harry's right hand twitch, but his wand remained hidden.

"What?"

"Last night was one of the clearest invitations I've ever seen. You accepted?"

"Yeah, I did, because there's so many great places to shag in this house. Ginny's room, of course, except Hermione sleeps there, too, so we'd just go up to my room, but wait—it's actually Ron's, so we thought we'd try the bathroom, because nobody ever wants in there. I'd take her for a fly and get the hell away from you lot, but _Voldemort destroyed my Firebolt!_

"FOR GODRIC'S SAKE!" Harry bellowed, and Bill was glad he'd only released the _Colloportus_. "I've been trying to do the right thing by your sister, but she's been bloody uncooperative." He glared at each of them in turn. "If I were going to—to sleep with her, I'd have worn the Invisibility Cloak to her room, given it to Hermione, and sent her upstairs to distract Ron, not gone at it in an open cupboard with a dozen relatives next door!"

Ron turned six shades of red. Harry swore and shoved a chair, knocking it and the one next to it over.

"That's a damn good plan," Fred said.

"That's a damn lot of unresolved tension," Charlie murmured.

Bill hummed in agreement. He believed Harry, but a bloke's fly didn't open by itself, and there was more to sex than shagging.

"Ron's rather worked up, too," he said, noting the clenched fists and tense posture.

Charlie smirked. "Ronniekins and Hermione were alone all afternoon_,_ then Ron came for her after she and Harry got back. They'd just come in when they found Harry and Ginny."

Really? He'd been with Fleur in his and Charlie's room, so he knew how much time they'd had.

"Thanks for disappearing."

"No problem. I reckoned a woman like that, you wouldn't let a few parents interfere."

Bill elbowed him half-heartedly. Ron and Harry were arguing, something about prophecy and love.

"At least one of us got lucky," Charlie said.

"You're not counting Ron?"

"He look like he just got off to you?"

Right. He'd been distracted by thinking about Fleur. "He has to have something to be worked up about. Goal, but no Snitch?"

"Definitely no Snitch."

Fred and George were pointing to Mum's clock; Harry said something about Hermione. Ron's fist shot out, and the four younger wizards tangled at the other end of the kitchen.

Bill sighed. The girls should be settled upstairs. He hoped Hermione was sensitive enough to have gone on to Ron's room.

"I'd better apologize to Ginny. Keep Harry in one piece, yeah?"

* * *

a/n: You can make goals and Snitches anything you like ;)

Thanks to the Wal-Mart—uh, _intimates_ department for the inspiration for Ginny's bra (I just can't bring myself to use "Wal-Mart" and "lingerie" in the same sentence).

I will be at LeakyCon next week (woo-hoo!) and may or may not be able to post chapter three over the weekend. If not, I promise to update as soon as I get back on the 18th.

keeptheotherone


	3. Bill and Ginny

Chapter 3: Bill and Ginny

"Ginny?" Bill knocked softly on her door.

No answer.

"Ginny, I know you're in there. Open the door."

Nothing.

"C'mon, Ginny, how can I apologize if you won't let me in?"

Still nothing.

He thumped the door with his fist this time. "Ginny, if you don't open this door I'm coming in anyway!"

Silence.

Bill put his hand on the doorknob but it didn't turn. Yeah, right, like his baby sister could keep out a professional curse breaker. He drew his wand, cast a nonverbal spell, and watched the door open wide.

Ginny was lying on her bed with her back to the door, and although she had her face buried in her pillow, it was clear she was crying. He frowned. All right, he'd been a little harsh, but he hadn't expected to find her heartbroken.

Oh.

Well, there wasn't a bloody thing he could do about Harry, since cursing the Chosen One into oblivion would be detrimental to them all. It was a damn shame, too; he knew some good ones. But he could apologize for playing the big brother card so forcefully. Bill crossed the room and sat behind her on the bed.

"I'm sorry, Gin-Gin." He reached out to rub her back but Ginny shook him off with a violent swing of her arm that nearly clipped him on the chin. The abrupt, evasive movement (and the silent treatment) were so utterly female that Bill suddenly realized this was no longer the child-sister he remembered_._ It was going to take more than a hug and a sweet to sort things out this time.

"Ginny, you know I didn't mean it. We just needed to talk to Harry, man-to-man." Never mind he hadn't actually done that yet.

She sniffed but didn't speak. He'd never seen her this quiet after an argument. Cautiously, he laid a hand on her arm.

She shook him off again and sat up. "No, I don't know. You've never patronized me like that before, not even when I was a little girl, and—" her voice cracked—"you did it in front of everyone. It was humiliating!" She sniffed again, holding the pillow in front of her like a shield.

Bill understood that by "everyone," she really meant "Harry." Her chin was tucked down so her hair hid her face, but she turned slightly and gave him an accusing glare.

Well, if she was trying to make him feel like shit, she was doing a bang-up job. He had assumed she was upset with all of them on principle, but she seemed genuinely hurt and had singled him out as the source. He sighed. Nothing to do but suck it up and grovel.

"You're right." This brought her face up to meet his, as he knew it would. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that, especially not in front of your friends." Ginny's expression cleared but she was still watching him carefully. "I'm really sorry that I embarrassed you, and I never intended to hurt your feelings. Forgive me?"

She hesitated just long enough for him to start sweating it. "Well, maybe you," she conceded with a small smile, and Bill felt a flash of relief before her face darkened again.

"But not Ron." Ginny slammed the pillow down beside her, then punched it. "Bloody hypocrite, thrashing around the Common Room with that slag Lavender, and then he has the audacity to complain about me and Harry in a perfectly private cupboard!"

Bill raised his eyebrows. So his baby brother had seen some action that year, too.

Ginny turned away, but not before he saw her tearing up. Hell, he didn't want to talk about this, but he couldn't just sit here and watch her cry.

"What's so bad about Ron?"

She clutched the pillow to her chest again. "He said he was all right with me and Harry, but when he pulled Harry away from me, he looked furious, and then Harry wasn't—and I was—but—Ron hasn't seen me without a shirt since Mum used to make us bathe together," she wailed.

Bill stared at his sister for several seconds, trying to process what she'd said. Without a— No wonder Ron looked ready to end Harry's fame as The Boy Who Lived.

"Bloody hell, Ginny, you're only—"

"Sixteen! I'll be sixteen in less than a fortnight. Fleur was only a couple years older when you started dating."

He winced. There was just something inherently wrong about a conversation that included topless snogging, his baby sister, and his fiancée. Bill thought about his last couple years at Hogwarts and the sixteen-year-old witches with whom he had been . . . acquainted.

"Bloody hell," he repeated slowly, staring at her again. She fell back on the bed with a moan and covered her flaming face with the pillow.

Bill was thinking fast. Ginny had literally been just a baby when he left for Hogwarts, and eight the autumn he left for Egypt. Somehow, while he knew she was growing up over the years just like his brothers, his little girl image of her had persisted. Bill took advantage of her embarrassment under the pillow to study her more objectively.

Even allowing for his own height she was short_,_ with smooth, creamy skin and light freckles he knew she hated but the boys no doubt found adorable. Lying there in short shorts and a tank top, her figure was clearly curvy, though thankfully it would be a lot harder to tell that in robes. The long hair splayed around the pillow was a shiny, silky, gorgeous shade of dark red, the best of all of them_._ He couldn't see her face, so Bill pictured her at Harry's birthday party. Ginny had always been attractive, but now her features were maturing from cute to beautiful. That left bright brown eyes and a mischievous smile . . . .

Ginny was still under the pillow. Bill tugged on it playfully.

"So, you and Potter, eh?"

"Not exactly."

Bill felt his protective instincts bristling again.

"Then what, exactly?" Apparently this came out rather harshly, since Ginny moved the pillow enough to give him The Look. Bill nearly laughed out loud; if he hadn't already acknowledged his little sister had grown into a woman, he would have known it then. He schooled his features and repeated the question.

Ginny settled the pillow behind her and began playing with a loose string in the spread. "We were together this spring," she said quietly. "For a few weeks, and it was—magic. I'd never felt like that with anyone, and Harry was happy. Everyone, even Ron, said how happy Harry looked when we were together, and I was so proud of that. And then Professor Dumbledore died, and everything changed. Harry—"

She drew a deep breath. "Harry said Dumbledore had given him a mission, him and Ron and Hermione, and it was dangerous, so he was leaving me behind. I understand that—he wouldn't be Harry without that damn noble streak—but then he shows up here acting like nothing ever happened."

She looked uncharacteristically fragile, and Bill reached for her hand. She squeezed his tightly.

"I understand that Harry has to leave me behind, but after everything we've been through, I don't understand how he could pretend there's nothing between us. Like we're not even friends. I couldn't let him ignore me like that, not again."

Bill thought about her defiant attitude downstairs, her spirited personality, her determination, and he began to understand what Harry had been hinting at.

"So since Harry was ignoring you, you decided to seduce him."

Ginny avoided his eyes. "Not exactly."

He waited. She squirmed.

"Harry likes to watch me."

_Yeah, I bet_.

"He doesn't know I know, but I've been watching him for a lot longer, and I'm a lot better at it. All I did was just . . . give him something to look at." Ginny shrugged artlessly.

There was something familiar about that pose . . . . Bill remembered all the times he had scolded the twins or Ron for some bit of mischief and they had protested vociferously it was Ginny's doing. She would look at him with those big brown eyes (just like now, actually), and smile innocently (that smile, right there), and say—

"It wasn't me, Bill, I've been good!" Ginny's smile stretched from innocent to something more playful, and she burst out laughing.

"You little imp." Bill lunged, tickling her ribs. Ginny started shrieking. "The twins and Ron were right, you did set them up." She was rolling all over the bed now, giggling and slapping at his hands. "Say it. Say it, or I'll tickle you until you wet your pants!"

Ginny laughed even harder, until she could barely breathe, and Bill knew she was remembering the time he'd done that very thing to Percy, the ungrateful prat.

"Un-un-uncle!" She was turned around now, with her head at the foot of the bed, and Bill stared down at her indignantly. Ginny started giggling again.

"You're so easy. Charlie, and especially Percy, were more suspicious, but you always fell for the Sweet Baby Sister."

Bill was actually starting to feel a little sorry for Potter and decided to take Ginny's explanation at face value. "At least learn how to lock a door, will you? You ought to know there's no privacy in this house."

She sat up. "Will you teach me something _Alohomora_ can't open? I didn't expect to keep you out, but Ron and the twins . . . ."

"Ginny, you're going to be the death of me."

She grinned. "No, I think that's going to be Fleur."

"You're okay with her, right? I mean, I know you two didn't really get on at first, and she's been a bit, er, excessive with the wedding plans, but you like her now?"

Ginny reached over and squeezed his arm. "She loves you, and you're happy with her. What more could we want?"

Bill smiled at her. "Thanks, Gin-Gin."

She scowled but let the pet name slide. "Do me a favor, make sure Harry and Ron haven't killed each other, will you? Fred and George would think it was funny just to stand by and watch."

"Sure, Ginny." Last he'd seen, Fred and George weren't standing on the sidelines, but what Ginny didn't know wouldn't hurt her. That strategy had kept peace among the Weasley siblings since before she was born, and Bill wasn't about to change it now.


	4. Eavesdropping

Chapter 4: Eavesdropping

"Ginny okay?" Charlie asked as Bill joined them at the kitchen table.

"Yeah. She made me work for it more than usual, though. Where are Ron and Harry?"

"They wouldn't shut it, so we shoved them in the cupboard and sealed the door," Fred said.

"Lots of banging and thumping at first, but they've been quiet for a few minutes now. Interested?" George pulled a handful of flesh-colored strings from his pocket.

"Are those the famous Extendable Ears?" Charlie leaned forward.

"The one and only." George passed them around and sent the opposite ends under the cupboard door.

Charlie copied the others as they placed the somewhat squishy string inside their ears. George automatically raised his to the left side of his head, then switched to his remaining right ear. Charlie didn't find it at all funny that his brother had a body part cursed off, but since George apparently did . . . .

"Missing something?"

George grinned back at him as Harry's voice filled their ears.

". . . might have broken my nose again, git." He did sound like he was talking underwater.

"I'm the git? You're messing my baby sister around, and I'm the git?" Ron's voice was shrill and indignant, causing Charlie to jerk his head away. He replaced the string less deeply.

". . . drop the 'baby sister' bit? Ginny's only a year younger, I'm hardly cradle-robbing."

"She's the youngest, and she's a girl," Ron said stubbornly. "She'll always be my baby sister."

"I'd like to see you say that to her face."

So would he, Charlie thought.

Harry grunted as if Ron had elbowed him hard in the ribs. "You wouldn't have found us if you hadn't been out snogging Hermione."

The eavesdroppers smirked knowingly at one another, and Charlie held out his hand in the universal gesture for "pay up." They had bet on Ron and Hermione's first kiss, and he'd put his money on "before the wedding." Fred and George were shaking their heads vigorously; Bill's gesture, though also universal, was much ruder.

". . . 's different," Ron was protesting.

"Yeah, how's that?"

Charlie was surprised by the sharpness of Harry's voice.

"Oh, right, Hermione's an only child, with no brothers breathing down your neck you actually could shag her in her moth—"

There was an ugly _crack_ that was exactly the sound Charlie imagined Harry's head would make if slammed into a wood shelf, then a heavy _thunk_ and an odd chattering he thought might be from a spilled sack of beans. Charlie expected Bill to interrupt, but he didn't seem to notice. Meanwhile, no one needed Extendable Ears to hear the occasional insult (in both boys' voices, so at least Harry was conscious) and quite a bit of crashing and smashing.

"Entertaining as this is, we can't let Ron kill the Chosen One," Fred said.

"Or destroy all the food," George added. "Mum and Fleur will go spare if they have to do those pastries again."

The mention of Fleur going spare seemed to get Bill's attention, for he drew his wand and waved it at the closed door.

The resulting silence was so absolute that Fred and George reinserted their Extendable Ears.

"That wasn't a Silencing Spell," Charlie said.

"Anti-Motion Jinx. Temporarily freezes you in place, regardless of gravity."

"Through a sealed door?" Fred asked.

"Through your sealed door, yeah."

"How long until—never mind," George said, as dual thuds and groans echoed from the pantry.

No yelling had resumed, so Charlie decided it was safe to listen in again.

"They're out there, aren't they?" Harry was asking.

"Well, I didn't suspend us in mid-air!"

There was an odd scraping noise.

"I can't believe Bill took our wands. We'll have to sneak back in here before Mum sees this."

"Haven't wizards ever heard of plastic?" The scraping continued.

"Pla-whatsit?"

"Plastic. It's unbreakable, and the containers come with lids that seal."

Ron didn't reply.

The scraping stopped. "Look, Ron, I didn't—"

"Having a go at my sister and my—and Hermione in the same night is really not the best idea, Harry."

"Yeah, I just . . . ." Harry's voice got louder and Charlie realized he'd sat down near the Ear. "Don't tell Hermione?"

Now it was Ron's voice that had an edge. "Tell her what, that you practically called her—"

He stopped abruptly, and Charlie got the distinct impression both boys were remembering something neither wanted to talk about.

"Anyway," Ron said hastily, "I'm sorry about your nose. That was an accident." Ron weighed the first word of that sentence just enough for Charlie to surmise Harry had other injuries for which Ron wasn't sorry.

"I'm sorry about . . . everything."

They were silent for a while.

"I thought you broke it off."

"I did."

Charlie looked to Bill, who nodded.

Then what the hell— When Harry told him they weren't together, he thought he meant they weren't having sex, not that they weren't dating. Ginny had fancied Harry for ages, everyone knew that. If Harry was just using her he'd . . . he'd . . . he'd make sure he never rode a broomstick again!

"But you're back together now?" Ron said pointedly.

"No," Harry sighed.

"I told you." Charlie didn't need to see Ron to know his ears were red. "After the Quidditch Cup, I told you to keep the snogging to a minimum, and to watch your hands, and if you hurt her I'd hex you. So what the hell makes you think you can just shag her and leave?"

Charlie's gaze collided with Bill's. Leave?

"Nothing, I told you—"

"Oh, perfectly respectful, were you? Nothing to give a witch the idea you'll stick around, nothing she'll regret in the morning?"

Harry was silent.

"I thought so. Damn it, Harry! My bloody sister!"

He sounded genuinely upset, reminding Charlie how tight Ron and Ginny had been as kids.

"I tried to stay away from her, honest! We . . . talked, after the—the funeral, and she was great, but that was the last time I saw her until I came here. At Hogwarts it was different, I always wished I had more time with her, but here . . . here, she's just bloody everywhere! I go for a fly, she's already on the pitch. I go to the loo, she's waiting outside. She's in the kitchen, the sitting room, this damned cupboard . . . . So when she cornered me tonight I caved, all right? She's beautiful and brilliant and I miss her—" Harry's voice cracked.

"I trusted you. So did Ginny."

"Bloody hell, Ron!" Charlie winced painfully. "Do you think I wanted this? I'm trying to save her life!"

"She's a Weasley," Ron retorted. "Blood traitor, both parents and four brothers in the Order, a fifth who's best friends with That Prat Harry Potter, she's friends with Muggle-born Hermione Granger, who's also best friends with That Prat Harry Potter, she was with us at the Ministry, she fought Riddle when she was only eleven years old_._ And Snape saw you together more than once this spring, but he doesn't know anything about this supposed break-up, so neither do the Death Eaters."

Charlie felt like he'd been sucker-punched, like it'd been his head cracked against a shelf—little Gin-Gin, wanted by Death Eaters? It was painfully obvious now, but when he worried about his family Charlie hadn't included Ginny, she was safe at Hogwarts, she was too young to fight, she would be okay . . . . He glanced across the table and saw his own shock and horror reflected on the faces of Fred and George.

"Well, with all those reasons she doesn't need one more. Besides, I have other things to worry about."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, breaking up with her has really taken a load off your shoulders, mate."

Both of them were speaking with the casualness of familiarity, as if life and death and _evil_ were ordinary conversation. Charlie thought back over Ron's experiences at Hogwarts and the truth of that made him feel sick.

"Ginny was pretty mad at Bill. I can't remember the last time he told her off."

"She'll forgive him. He's her favorite brother." There was an awkward silence and Charlie figured Harry just realized his blunder. "I mean, she just misses him, you know, because he's never around, not like you are, you know she likes you."

"I know. Bill's my favorite, too."

Bill's loose hair hid his face, but the back of his neck was just as red. Charlie cocked an eyebrow at the twins, who nodded, then gave Bill a sharp kick in the shin. He looked up.

"We reckon you're our favorite sibling, too. 'Cept for Gin-Gin, of course, she's the best."

"Of course," Bill said dryly, but he looked chuffed.

"—long do you think they're going to leave us in here?"

"Fred and George? All night, prob'ly."

They were wrestling again.

"I used to live in a cupboard, but at least I didn't have to share it."

More shoving and shifting noises. Ron swore.

"What?"

"I just spilled Mum's cabinet of potions ingredients."

"So tell Hermione you need her help to clear up and you can snog again."

Charlie thought this an excellent suggestion on both counts: he highly doubted Ron could neaten the cabinet well enough to fool their mother, and it would ensure he won the bet.

"Hermione's too smart to fall for that."

Harry laughed. "I thought she was too smart to fall for you, but you managed it."

Once again, the Weasley men traded amused smirks at Ron's expense.

"How'd you get Ginny in here?"

"I didn't. She tricked me."

Fred and George shifted restlessly at this accusation, but Bill held up a placating hand. Charlie thought back to last night and the witch crawling—braless and damn near shirtless—across this very table and decided to hear Harry out.

"Really, Harry, that's your defense? It was Ginny's fault?"

"She was already in here and called my name, she said the potatoes were too high for her to reach and too heavy to pull over her head . . . ."

Charlie, Fred, and George began laughing, while Bill made shushing motions.

"Harry, that is the sorriest story I've ever heard."

"It's not a story!"

"Reach to your left and forward a little. Now what is that?"

Fred and George were nearly on the floor. Bill had cast another Silencing Spell and given in to his own laughter. They all knew what Harry was going to say, for their mum kept the potatoes on the floor of the cupboard, in the corner close to the door.

"Potatoes," Harry said weakly.

Charlie doubled over as George slid helplessly off his chair.

"Potatoes. You're telling me you haven't peeled enough potatoes in this house in the last five years to know Mum keeps them on the floor? She's hardly any taller than Ginny, you think she's going to keep something overhead she uses all the time? And what's Ginny need potatoes for, anyway, when dinner's been over for hours?"

"I thought she needed help, Ron. It was not my fault, she's been coming on to me for days!"

It took three tries, his wand hand was shaking so hard, but Bill finally managed to open the cupboard door as Charlie Banished the Extendable Ears back to George's pocket.


	5. Sisters Are Sacred

Chapter 5: Sisters Are Sacred

Harry, who had been leaning against the door, sprawled out onto the floor, causing even greater fits of hilarity.

"Oh, very funny," he said as Bill released his Silencing Spell and raucous laughter filled the kitchen.

"I'm with Ron, that really is the worst cover story I've ever heard." George's voice came from below the table.

Fred was seated but still snickering. "Hell, Harry, you should've just told us you'd been planning it since you arrived. We would've believed that."

Harry felt this bore a disagreeable resemblance to his fifth year. "I wasn't planning it, it's not a story, and I'm not lying. Ginny was already in the cupboard, she said she needed my help to reach something, and I went to help her."

"Really, Harry," Charlie gasped. "I don't know what's funnier, the idea of Ginny playing the damsel in distress, or you falling for it."

"Hermione calls it his 'saving people thing.' " Ron grinned as he took a seat. "C'mon, Harry, sit down."

But Harry was not feeling very sociable. They were just winding him up, but he did not appreciate being laughed at when he was telling the truth, and considering he actually did rescue Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets and Hermione said that the night Sirius died, he couldn't find anything funny about saving people—or not.

George had resumed his seat at the table and was Summoning butterbeers and a tin of biscuits from the open cupboard. Harry ducked as they soared overhead.

"Sorry, Harry, I should have asked you to get them down for me."

The table erupted in laughter again—except for Bill. Bill was eyeing him much the same way Crookshanks had looked at Scabbers in third year. Bill had gone to talk with Ginny, but she wouldn't have told . . . would she? Ron knew, he had seen her, but Harry knew they'd never speak of it. He didn't think Bill would be that generous and swallowed nervously. Bill noticed, and his scarred face twisted into an unsettling smile.

"Find anything else on the floor, Potter?" he said in a cool tone that caused the others to look up. "A t-shirt, maybe, or a bra?"

_Oh, shit. _Harry wondered if he could make it to a broomstick in time.

Fred's, George's, and Charlie's heads swiveled to Ron.

"Hey, I busted his lip _and_ his nose and nearly cracked his head open. What more do you want?"

Bill was still watching him.

"No, I didn't find anything else. Why, did Fleur lose something?"

The room went deadly quiet—even Ron paused with a biscuit halfway to his mouth—and Harry wished he'd thought to ask for his wand.

* * *

Bill stared hard at Harry for several seconds, wand in hand, then, "_Episkey!" _He felt a surge of satisfaction as Harry gasped in pain and grabbed his nose.

"You can thank Ginny for that, she asked me to check on you."

He conveniently left out she'd worried about Ron, too, and sure enough Harry flushed at the implication. Bill was quite enjoying harassing his sister's not-exactly-boyfriend, but he had promised, so he cast another spell that had Potter rubbing the back of his head, then siphoned the blood from his face and shirt. He left the split lip alone (the kid had been snogging his baby sister) and tossed Harry a butterbeer.

"Sit down, Harry, have a drink."

Grudgingly, Harry complied. Bill grabbed a handful of biscuits, then looked up at the slam of glass on wood. Harry was glaring at George.

"Is it that hard for you lot to believe Ginny did something—not right?"

Bill hid his grin behind a swig of butterbeer. You had to admire a bloke who stood up to five agitated brothers and insisted he was blameless even after being caught in the act. He just wasn't sure if that made Harry brave, or stupid.

"What the hell are you on about, Harry?" Fred said.

"Well, she's hardly an innocent!"

Stupid, Bill decided as a warning growl rumbled around the table.

Harry turned a brighter red. "No, no, that's not what I meant! It's just—I mean, she— I—"

Bill caught Charlie's eye. It was gratifying to have the bloody Chosen One stammering at your interrogation like any other adolescent with a crush, even if it wasn't particularly reassuring about the likelihood of his success.

"Well, she's a lot like you two, isn't she?" Harry looked at Fred and George. "Clever, funny, not too fussed about rules, lies well enough to pull off a good prank . . . ."

Bill watched his brothers come to the same realization he had upstairs.

"Blimey," Charlie breathed, "you mean the potato story is true? You fell for that?"

Fred and George wore contrasting expressions of pride and panic at the idea of Ginny taking after them, but Ron just reached for another biscuit and munched noisily.

"You mean like that time she turned her hair blue, and blamed me because I wouldn't have tea with her and her animals?"

"Or when she unwound the Christmas jumpers—"

Harry's mouth twitched.

"And planted the yarn in our room—"

"And told Mum—"

"We needed it for fuses?" Fred and George shuddered in remembered horror.

Bill saw Harry bite his cheek and joined in.

"No, he's talking about the first time I brought a girl home. Ginny was sick and I ended up with her in my lap the whole evening because she cried whenever anyone else tried to hold her."

They were all laughing now, and Harry looked expectantly at Charlie.

"Like when Dad was hosting some friends from the Ministry? She knew I'd brought home sweets from Honeydukes, so she threatened to scream the house down if I didn't share. She ate them all, then when she got sick, Mum blamed me for giving them to her."

"So you know she gets away with murder round here, and you're still acting like I've corrupted her."

"What can I say, mate?" Ron looked around the table.

"She's our baby sister," the Weasley brothers chorused.

Harry groaned, his head in his hands. "Can't we get past that?"

"As Ron so eloquently stated—"

"Fine. I won't do anything your Sweet Baby Sister doesn't approve. Satisfied?"

Bill hid another grin behind his butterbeer and noticed Charlie doing the same.

"Gred?"

"Yes, Forge?"

"Do we have a Sweet Baby Sister?"

It looked like Harry could handle dating Ginny just fine, but Bill leaned forward to give one more piece of advice.

"Look, Harry, you know we're just taking the piss—mostly. We'll cut you some slack, seeing as you don't have any, but sisters are sacred, even when they're a right pain in the arse. So either get your act together and tell Ginny how you feel, or keep your hands to yourself. Or Voldemort will have to stand in line, understand?" Bill held Harry's gaze until the young man gave a nod of acknowledgment, then turned to his youngest brother.

"So, Ron, what's this I hear about you 'thrashing around the common room with that slag Lavender'?"

* * *

"Ginny?"

She'd wondered when Hermione would come back.

"Are you okay?"

Ginny continued brushing her hair with more vigor than care.

Hermione sat down on the end of Ginny's bed, next to her dressing table. "I'm sorry about Bill. Did he come up and apologize?"

That had hurt. To see Bill—the one brother who always stood up for her, who protected her from the rest, who never treated her like she was a bother—to see that condescending look on his face and hear the harshness in his voice when he spoke her name—her full name!—had really hurt.

"Yeah. He's gotten better at it. I guess Fleur's good for something."

Hermione smiled faintly. "You know your brothers like Harry; they just don't want to see him hurt you."

"It's a little late for that."

"I'm really sorry. I tried to get Ron to wait, but . . . ."

"It's not your fault." She joined Hermione on the bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

But her voice trembled and Hermione reached out to rub her back. Ginny moved away. Crying in front of Bill had been bad enough; any more sympathy and she'd turn into a blubbering idiot. In over a month, she hadn't talked about the break with Harry with anyone, not Hermione, not Ron, not her mum, although they all had tried. She just _couldn't_ talk about it.

Hermione conjured a handkerchief. Ginny wadded it in her hand.

"It must be awful, having him here."

She should have known Hermione wouldn't give up.

"Yes . . . and no. Of course I want him here. He belongs here." She swiped her nose. "He's safe here. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I thought I could handle it; I thought we could handle it. Maybe a little awkwardness, but with so many people it would be easy not to be alone . . . ." Ginny twisted the handkerchief back and forth.

"What's awful is him ignoring me. It's like the beginning all over again, before we became friends, before I learned to relax and talk around him, but worse. He made me think—" Her throat tightened, and she swallowed. Hermione reached out again, and this time Ginny let her. "I believed we had a chance, that—that he felt the same way, and now it's like I don't even exist." She looked up, hurt shimmering in her eyes. "Why is he doing that, Hermione?"

"Oh, Ginny." Hermione looked almost as miserable as she felt. "Harry still watches you, like he's storing up—"

She broke off. Hermione had been doing that a lot lately; Ginny thought she was trying to tell her something without actually telling her.

"You're leaving, aren't you? You, and Harry, and Ron. You're going after Voldemort."

"You can't let on that you know, Harry will be furious if he thinks I told you—"

Ginny laughed bitterly. "Harry's ignoring me."

"Not tonight, he wasn't."

Ginny pulled her hair over one shoulder and began toying with the ends. "I didn't give him much of a choice. You saw him, he wouldn't even look at me afterwards." She had risked a lot for those few minutes with Harry, and all he could say was he thought she should leave. She stood and paced the narrow strip of floor between their beds.

"Harry couldn't stand it if something happened to you, Ginny. He's terrified Voldemort's going to come after you again and he thinks staying away from you is the best way to keep you safe."

"That's what he said."

"At Dumbledore's funeral?"

She nodded. Maybe if she kept moving, the grief wouldn't catch up.

"All Harry will say is it's over. What happened?"

Ginny turned, considering, and suddenly it hit her. Hermione was leaving; she was leaving and she might not come back. There might not be another warm summer night to sit cross-legged on a bed and commiserate about the stupidity of boys.

"Do you have any chocolate?"

* * *

a/n: One more chapter and our couple will have their happy ending; or as happy as it gets during the Horcrux Hunt, anyway. Thanks so much to all my readers! One thing I ask is if you mark this story as a favorite (I'm honored!), please take a moment to review. Knowing what works (and what doesn't) helps me improve as a writer. Kudos to everyone who has reviewed, favorite or not!

keeptheotherone


	6. Just Talk to Her

Chapter 6: Just Talk to Her

"Perfectly respectful, he was," Harry mocked. He and the Weasley brothers were still gathered round the kitchen table. Mercifully, their focus had shifted to Ron.

"Shut it, Harry." Ron shoved his shoulder as his brothers laughed.

"Lavender Brown. How did you manage her?" Fred asked.

"Poorly."

Ron shoved Harry again, then shrugged. "I just turned around, and she was kissing me."

Everyone looked to Harry. "Pretty much."

"Damn." Charlie was impressed. "I thought Bill was the only one with that kind of magnetism."

Ron's ears reddened.

"She's pretty enough, but I always thought she was rather dozy," George said.

"She's not stupid, just . . . shallow."

"Unlike another lovely sixth—blimey, Ron, you went out with Hermione's roommate?"

"It's worse than that," Harry said. "She asked him out."

"Lavender?"

"Hermione."

"Before Lavender?" Bill said.

"Uh-huh."

Ron scowled at Harry, who looked decidedly unrepentant.

"Hermione's not a witch who'd take that lying down," Charlie said.

"She attacked me with canaries and didn't speak to me for three months."

Everyone seemed to understand how painful that was, for no one made a smart reply.

"Your birthday!" George exclaimed. "Dead quiet, she was. You two hadn't made up?"

Ron shook his head. "That was awful. She cried."

Everyone winced.

"And tonight?" Charlie said.

"That was a dirty trick. She didn't realize you were flirting."

"They weren't playing chess?" Harry asked.

"Hell, no!"

"I'd watch my back if I were you," he told Charlie.

"Damn. I didn't think of that."

"Serves you right." Ron glared.

"So what happened?" Bill said.

"Nothing." No one believed that, so Ron continued. "She yelled at me, we talked some, found Harry shagging—"

"I WAS NOT!"

The Weasleys laughed.

"She's shirtless and your fly is undone. Nothing suggestive about that, Harry," Fred said sardonically.

"Bugger this." Bill Banished the empty butterbeers. "Ginny and sex calls for Firewhisky. How many?"

Four freckled hands shot into the air. Harry looked very uncertain.

"Relax, Harry, you're among friends." Bill plunked down an unrequested shot. "We'll pretend your bird is some witch we've never met, and we don't have a sister. Right, boys?"

All five Weasleys drained their glasses.

"You know we'll know when you are shagging, right?" Charlie pushed his glass towards his brother.

Harry's jaw tightened. He didn't believe he'd have that chance.

Bill poured refills. "We'll keep making accusations until one day you're not defensive, and that'll be that."

"Ginny will have a fit, and you know it."

"I'll say you told me," Ron said.

"Well, it won't be my fault."

George snorted. "Next you'll claim she undid your trousers."

"I'm pretty sure she did."

"'Pretty sure'?" Charlie said. "A girl's hand's in your pants, and you're only 'pretty sure' about it?"

What the hell. "Well, I'm damn sure my hands weren't off her long enough to manage it."

Charlie choked on his Firewhisky; Bill poured himself another; Ron, Fred, and George groaned.

"You asked." Bill pounded Charlie's back.

"Can't we hex him?"

"Not tonight."

"Besides, there's nothing to remember thanks to Mr. Killjoy here."

Ron looked perversely delighted. "Her hand was on your fly when I busted in?"

"Why the hell do you think I told you to sod off?"

Harry was relieved to see all five brothers laughing again, even if it was at his expense. It was loads better than the alternative. "I just wish—"

"Wish what?"

Harry gulped his untouched shot, coughed, and went for it. "Wish I'd seen how far her freckles go."

Bill and Charlie frowned, George and Ron looked down at their own chests, but Fred was staring into space.

"I used to wonder that about Angelina," he said dreamily.

"Angelina _Johnson_?"

"But she—"

"Has all this dark chocolate skin," Fred said, refilling Harry's glass rather clumsily. "Everywhere. Anyway, why not Angelina?"

Ron spluttered.

Harry choked out the first answer he could think of. "She was our Quidditch captain, fifth year!"

"Like that never sparked a fantasy," Charlie said.

Both boys downed another shot.

"My freckles go all the way down," George said helpfully.

"Mine too," Ron added.

Harry looked up. "I know that, prats. But you don't have—"

"Tits, right."

"Ginny's did, as a baby. Didn't they, Charlie? I always changed her nappies with my hand on her chest so she wouldn't fall. We matched, my skin and hers."

How much Firewhisky had Bill had?

"I think so. You always made me watch the twins. Besides, Harry got a good look last night." Charlie tried refilling his glass, then shook the bottle hard when it reduced to a trickle at half-way.

"What's that?"

"Only Ginny in see-through clothes, crawling across this table."

Bill lowered his glass, grimacing.

Charlie was frowning into the opening of the bottle now, distinctly cross-eyed. "It was worse in person, trust me."

Harry opened his mouth to object, then closed it at Ron's dark look.

"Gave me this sudden urge to owl Ryan Doyle and 'pologize," Charlie confessed, finally abandoning the Firewhisky.

"You too? Ever since Ginny reminded me she's nearly sixteen, I've been thinking witch whiches . . . witches which . . . who was a little sister."

This struck Harry as funny. "What, older sisters don't count?"

Ron was giggling, too, though Harry thought that might be more from his oldest brothers' antics than anything.

"Older sisters make the list too long," Bill said.

"Quite," Charlie said over the laughter. "Meghan or Erin?"

"Yes."

The twins wolf-whistled. Or tried too, anyway. Their mouths didn't seem to be working properly.

"You are such a show-off," Charlie complained, but he was laughing.

"Who—"

"The Doyle twins," Fred and George said reverently.

"How d'you know?" Bill asked.

"They were the only other twins—"

" 'Cept for the Patil twins. But they didn't arrive 'til third year—"

"They're beautiful, all that shiny black hair—"

"Yeah, twice. Shiny black hair twice, Fred."

"But how did you know them?" Charlie asked. "They were years ahead of you."

"They were not. They're in Ron's year."

"The Doyle twins, George. How did you know the Doyle twins?"

"Ohhhh. Well, they were the only other twins when we were firsties, so we asked Meghan and Erin if they would show us around, you know—"

"In the spirit of twinship. And they gave us a tour of Ravenclaw Tower, including—" Fred paused dramatically, empty glass raised.

"Not the girls' dormitories," Bill said.

Identical evil grins said it all.

"You were 'leven—eleven year s'old," Charlie protested.

"And they were frilly and boring, so we asked how the Grey Lady died," Fred said.

"The stairs didn't slide?" Ron asked. "Gryffindor's stairs slide."

"Uh-huh. They levitated us."

Bill and Charlie looked torn between outrage and envy.

"You're winding us up," Bill accused.

"Owl Ryan and ask," Fred taunted.

He chucked his shot glass. "Damn, I'm glad I graduated before you two arrived!"

"Lucky you," said Harry, Ron, and Charlie.

* * *

Harry, head pounding and a bad taste in his mouth despite a diligent tooth-brushing, exited the bathroom the next morning and groaned.

Hermione was standing across the hall.

"Hermione, please—"

She pulled him aside.

"Hermione, I don't want to talk—"

"Then listen," she said briskly. "You need to talk to Ginny."

"I told you—"

"Just talk to her, Harry. You can't leave like this."

Harry crossed his arms and looked away. He was not having this conversation.

Hermione softened. "I know you're just trying to keep her safe, but Ginny's really hurt that you're ignoring her. She'll back off if you just talk to her. Keep this up after last night, and she'll be crushed."

"Ginny's not crushed by anything."

"It's the people we care about most who have the most power to hurt us, Harry."

He ignored her implication. "Last night doesn't change anything. I just have to work harder at avoiding her, that's all."

"You're missing the point, not to mention you're rubbish at avoiding her. You look at Ginny like she's everything you've ever wanted. She's not from someone else's life, she's right here in yours. Yes, she told me. It's incredibly romantic. Tragic, but romantic. Just talk to her, Harry. It's not going to hurt anything to ask her to pass the pumpkin juice."

* * *

Harry went downstairs only to find Ginny waiting for him.

"I know you're still leaving, that last night doesn't change anything—"

"You're not coming."

"Did I ask?"

"Well, no, but I thought—"

"You think too much."

Harry didn't know what to say. He'd never been accused of that before.

"I know you're leaving and I can't come with you," Ginny repeated, "but what I was trying to tell you last night was, don't forget. Don't forget that you have something—someone—to come back to."

Harry shook his head automatically. The Burrow was shifting, like the charms holding up the crooked house had given way and the world was tilting on its axis. "No, Gin, that's what I tried to tell you—when—after—that day. You can't—there's not—" He broke off, helpless to explain without revealing too much.

"It's not your decision, Harry. You can choose to break up with me, and choose to leave, but you do not get to choose whether I'll wait for you." She gave him that hard, blazing look. "I never gave up on you before, and I'm not giving up now. That's all I wanted to say."

And she left him staring at the kitchen door.

He gathered his composure, entered the kitchen, and was greeted by the roar of sound that accompanied meals in the Burrow. They'd been eating in shifts and Hermione and Ginny had bumped him into their slot with Charlie, Fred, George, and Mrs. Weasley. Ron was still lingering over seconds, or maybe thirds. Or maybe over Hermione, Harry thought with a smirk.

He took an open seat and helped himself. Once his plate was loaded with eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh strawberries, he looked longingly at the teapot steaming in front of him. He really did fancy the comfort of a cup of tea this morning, but he usually drank juice at breakfast. With the pitcher between Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, Hermione would accuse him of ignoring herself and Ginny if he changed his routine. He sighed.

"Ginny, please pass the pumpkin juice."

Hermione looked up suspiciously. Harry looked back innocently. Ginny was arguing with her mum and hadn't heard him. At least, he didn't think she did. Unless she was ignoring him now . . . .

"Ginny!" He raised his voice. She turned. "May I have the juice, please?"

Ginny passed the pitcher to Hermione. "Here, give this to Harry."

She was; she made that pretty little speech about never giving up, then she couldn't be bothered to get him a drink! Something cold touched his hand; Hermione was filling his glass and fighting back a smile.

"You said it wouldn't hurt anything." He should have just had tea.

Gabrielle's voice carried into the kitchen, calling urgently for her mother.

"Goodness, I'd better see what's the matter." Mrs. Weasley bustled from the room.

Ginny looked relieved. Harry shoveled in a forkful of eggs, trying to ignore the impulse to attract her attention. After days of leaving whatever room she entered, it felt strange to be sitting here, wishing she would just look at him. His conscience poked him painfully and, as always, spoke in Hermione's voice.

_Hurts to be ignored, doesn't it? And it's only been about five minutes. Imagine how Ginny feels with you running away all week._

Harry stabbed another bite of egg.

Fred and George were needling Ron about disappearing with Hermione last night and Charlie was Summoning the juice, like George had with the butterbeers. Which reminded him . . . .

"Hey, Ginny." She and Hermione had their heads together.

Harry set down his fork and leaned forward. "Ginny, I wanted to ask you . . . ."

"I'm sorry, did you say my name?"

Harry nodded, apparently quite eagerly, because Hermione couldn't hide her grin this time. He cleared his throat and tried to act naturally. It was just Ginny; one of the things he loved about—no, no, one of the things he _liked_ about her was how easy she was to talk to.

_Then why haven't you been talking to her?_

Was everyone's conscience this annoying?

Both girls were watching him. "Sorry. Ron said something interesting last night."

He twisted, and Ron's elbow missed. Everyone was listening now.

"He says since you're a girl, and the youngest, you'll be his baby sister forever."

Ginny merely gazed at him serenely, then shrugged. "At least I'm not the baby brother."

Ron looked nonplussed, but Harry thought he knew where this was going.

"We don't have a baby brother," Ron said to her.

The faces of the other Weasleys lit with glee.

"You don't," George sang.

"But we do," Charlie and Fred said together.

"You do what?" Bill entered with a fistful of scribbled seating charts.

"Have a baby brother." Grinning, Charlie tipped his chair back.

" 'Course you do. Me, too."

"But I'm not the youngest!" Ron argued, pointing to their smirking sister.

"You're the youngest male," Charlie said.

"And since neither of those attributes will ever, ever change—"

"You'll always be our baby brother," George promised.

Harry wasn't even trying to hide his amusement. Merlin, he hoped he never really ticked her off; the witch didn't even need her wand to make a bloke's life hell. Bill was waxing poetic about the day Ron was born, Hermione was giggling into her tea, and Ron was rapidly approaching the color of Harry's strawberries. He caught Ginny's eye and flashed her an undiluted grin, the same one he'd used to charm her away from her books for happy hours by the lake and stolen moments in secluded corners. Ginny's breath caught, and time stopped. There was no one else in the room but them, no one else in the world, and Harry knew he wouldn't forget. Not ever.

* * *

a/n: Thanks to everyone who has followed this story through to the end, and especially each and every reviewer! I will be starting a post-Hogwarts Harry/Ginny story within the week, and am continuing to write new material, but it wouldn't be half as much fun without you :D

keeptheotherone


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